Wedding bells in Jakarta

My first impression of Jakarta, apart from the obvious heat and humidity that is to be expected when one steps from the plane, was the goats. As we pulled from the airport after a seemingly exaggerated wait for our bags, there to welcome us to the capitol were goats grazing on the soft shoulder of the highway. Throughout our stay, anytime we ventured out of the city, goats were there to watch us pass.

Leaving the goats to their coarse tropical grasses we entered the city itself and were greeted with chaotic traffic the likes of which cannot adequately be describe. As we approached our hotel we found ourselves in the center of a major four-way intersection with traffic approaching us from all sides. Another noticeable feature of Jakarta traffic is the enthusiastic use of horns, though given the ostensible lack of traffic regulations this is not all that surprising.

Somehow we managed to get out of the intersection and into our hotel. We stayed in the North area of Jakarta, about 25 minutes by taxi (in light traffic) from downtown. Our hotel was a nice, four star place overlooking a lake on which wake boarding was a daily event. On the lake’s close shore were two restaurants with seating out over the water and sound systems that shook the windows of our 7th floor room. The hotel was what is generally expected of an international standard and the service was prompt and courteous.

Our first night in the city we were treated to homemade Indonesian-Chinese food at the home of a friend. The table, a meter-and-a-half diameter affair with rotating center, was packed with fish curry, chicken curry, steamed dumplings, fried noodles, rice, spicy beef, vegetables and more. After dinner I was asked to be the best man for the ceremony the following day.

Driving through the neighborhoods in Jakarta you cannot help but notice the large iron gates which stand at the major intersections. Within the neighborhoods themselves traffic gates, less stout but effective at diverting traffic, abound. Each of the houses are surrounded by walls and gates of their own, those along the main streets topped with spikes, spiky plants, and in a few cases glass pieces or barbed wire. The gates along the streets are remnants of the 1998 riots in which ethnic Chinese were quite literally hunted by Indonesians in the lower classes. The gates are still closed at night, manned by armed guards in camouflage uniforms.

The day of the wedding the photography crew – a director, still photographer, videographer (with a penchant for swaying angles), two lighting grips, a guy to man the electrical cords – arrived for the shooting of the Jacket Ceremony. This involved the groom’s father (played by his boss) placing white gloves and suit jacket on the groom. The ceremony then proceeded to the hallway where the groom’s father presents the groom to the best man, who escorts him out to the wedding car (in this instance a Mercedes sedan with bouquets adorning the hood and trunk, rose buds on the door handles) pausing repeatedly to be shot and filmed from the appropriate angles.

The church ceremony was Catholic, read almost entirely in Indonesian. (This was a testament to the open-mindedness of the groom, who is a Turkish Muslim.) The role of the best man, it should be noted, here differed significantly from what would normally be done in the West. The parents of the couple stand as witnesses while the best man and maid of honor take seats in the first pew. The photographic crew was an omnipresent force and would have doubtless incurred the wrath of at least one former minister I know.

At the conclusion of the service it was back to the hotel for the shooting of the Tea Ceremony. In this the newly wedded couple present tea to their parents, family, wedding attendants, et al. and receive their gifts (in the case of a Indonesian-Chinese wedding this is a small red envelope containing a sum of money). All, again, carefully directed and photographed.

Upon completion of the Tea Ceremony was a presentation to the family of a soup (again, carefully directed and photographed) and then the family was off for an afternoon at the studio for more photographs.

The reception was held later that evening in a large restaurant, featuring an elaborate stage and a singer accompanied by a man at a keyboard. The reception began with the presentation of the wedding party and then the bride and groom. As the best man I was asked to remain on the stage with the bride’s family, the newly weds and the groom’s father ‘for balance’. The groom made a speech and a carefully directed presentation of the wedding cake was made.

First to receive the cake was the bride, eating from the hand of the groom as would be normally done in the West. They then reversed roles. Then the happy couple presented cake in the same manner to her parents, then his, then the best man ‘for balance’.

The dinner was Chinese, served family style, and quite good. A toast to the couple, read by the emcee, interrupted dinner and the bride’s parents, the happy couple, the groom’s father and the best man ‘for balance’ mounted the stage again to raise a glass of tea in honor of the occasion. At the end of the meal the six were called again to the stage for the receiving line and here the ceremony, but not the photography. At the director’s behest people mounted and dismounted the stage to be photographed and filmed at odd angles with the bride and groom. Eventually, the camera crew ran out of film.

October 27 marked the start of Ramadan in Indonesia. Within the confines of our hotel there was not much that could be seen which would mark it as any significant day. Outside the hotel, however, was quite another matter. During the day most restaurants closed, only to open after sunset when the day of fasting ends, the exceptions appeared to be western fast food establishments. Establishments that would normally serve alcohol did not. The Hard Rock Café even went so far as to cover their external sign in black cloth, making it invisible from the street, and though open, did not serve alcohol or host a band.

Our final day we spent in the cooler mountains near Bogor, about an hour from Jakarta. A tropical haze still hung in the valley, and the peaks would disappear under caps of cloud, but the mid-mountain was mild and pleasant. We walked for a short time among the tea plants, admiring the occasional banana tree growing in their midst. Along the highway as we drove back, between us and the goats, the durian sellers had set themselves on the roads edge. Durian, for the uninitiated, has a spiky brown shell about the size of a soccer ball and such a pungent scent that it is banned in most hotels, subways, buses, malls and aircraft in Southeast Asia.

We took our final meal in Jakarta in a seafood restaurant near the presidential palace. Grilled tiger prawns the size of small lobster, fried fish, a sort of shrimp cake with whole shrimp in them, fresh coconut to drink. As we drove away we passed the presidential palace and then the main mosque in Jakarta. It is a huge building that would easily dwarf the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Directly across the street stands the largest Catholic church Indonesia. Around a bend and through a park stands a large monolith, topped in a flame of gold reputed to be 36kg of gold, a gift from the government of China, but with no other significance to the population of Jakarta.

We returned to Japan that evening, upgraded again to the upper deck of a 747 (I am beginning to like Garuda’s service), leaving behind the goats and gates of Jakarta.